He looked at me for a moment, then unlocked the door and placed the key on the table.
“If you want to leave, you can. But first, listen to one thing.”
My mother suddenly spoke.
“Robert, I’m not taking your money anymore.”
My father’s face turned pale.
“Linda, if you stop, they’ll lose everything.”
I was stunned.
“Who? Who are you talking about?”
My father sat down.
My mother walked to an old cupboard and pulled out a small metal box.
Inside were hundreds of receipts.
Every single one showed a transfer of the same amount of money.
Every month.
For thirty years.
Some of them even had the words “Confidential. Do Not Disclose” written across the top.
I picked up the most recent document.
Three names were listed.
Mary Wilson.
Sarah Wilson.
Jessica Wilson.
All women’s names.
“Dad, who are these women?”
He lowered his head.
“People whose lives changed because of me.”
Everything inside me went cold.
“Do you have another family?”
My mother began crying even harder.
My father answered quietly.
“No, Emily.”
“Then what did you do to those women?”
He said nothing.
I couldn’t take it anymore.
“You’ve been paying Mom to stay silent for thirty years. And now you’re telling me that people’s lives were ruined because of you? I have a right to know the truth!”
My father looked at my mother.
“Bring the photographs.”
My mother reached into the bottom of the box and pulled out an old envelope.
Inside was a photograph of three little girls.
They were sitting in a hospital hallway.
The oldest looked about ten years old.
The youngest was holding a worn-out doll.
On the back of the photograph, someone had written:
“December 14, 1986.”
My father spoke softly.
“That was the day their father died.”
I sat down.
“And what did you have to do with his death?”
My father remained silent for a long time.
Then he whispered,
“If it hadn’t been for me, he wouldn’t have been there that night.”
I could barely breathe.
“Did you force him to do something?”
My father closed his eyes.
“I was the one who asked him to come.”
